


Invisible Signs and Secret Wonders

by SpaceAnJL



Category: Sanctuary (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Spoilers for everything
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-05-28
Updated: 2012-06-23
Packaged: 2017-11-06 05:06:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/415027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpaceAnJL/pseuds/SpaceAnJL
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post 4.9 'Chimera' - The first time Nikola sees her is from behind.  It is a very nice behind, rounding out a set of jeans, halfway up a library ladder.  And then there are the boots, little pointy high-heeled boots of a type that bring back a sudden memory of Oxford, when such items would peep daintily out from under layers of petticoats and skirts, rather than blue denim.  Not at all suitable footwear for clambering around up on high...</p><p>Or, In Which Chapter, Nikola Tesla Uses His Powers for Wrong.  Again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cat Amongst the Pigeons

It has been a mere two days since the whole Praxian brain spider affair, and Will had thought Magnus had been cheerfully off-hand about the fact that there was a visitor in the Sanctuary, especially so soon afterwards. Fresh from overseeing the transfer of a crate of something smelly and bad-tempered, he hadn't had time to make more than a token bewildered noise before she was sending him down to find the woman. The icing on the cake had been Tesla appearing out of a side corridor, grumbling about 'ungrateful whelps' – which probably meant that Henry had ejected him from the lab again. Will had rather been hoping that the vampire had left, but it doesn't seem that they are that lucky. He's still trying to tune out the bitching about a world that doesn't understand true genius, when he opens the door to the library.

So, the first time Nikola sees her is from behind. It is a very nice behind, rounding out a set of jeans, halfway up a library ladder. And then there are the boots, little pointy high-heeled boots of a type that bring back a sudden memory of Oxford, when such items would peep daintily out from under layers of petticoats and skirts, rather than blue denim. Not at all suitable footwear for clambering around up on high...

Kat Donovan is peering at the shelves, and somewhat distracted by the sheer number of goodies on display, when she hears the library doors open. She turns with a smile, expecting Helen, and catches sight instead of two men, one stocky and casual, the other slim and suited. One of them must be Dr Zimmerman. In the interests of making a good first impression, she should probably forgo coveting what looks like the unexpurgated travel journals of Sir Richard Burton, and climb down to be polite. 

Between one step down and the next, somehow, her foot skids back off the rung. And then, a pair of surprisingly strong hands grip her waist. She squeaks, tries to regain her balance, even if dignity is a lost cause, and looks round and down. It's the one in the suit. She has a glimpse of blue eyes in a thin face.

Nikola gives her his most trustworthy smile, and takes in the rest of her. Dark hair in a high ponytail, a delightful blush as she realises that he still has his hands on her hips...

“Um, you can let go now, thank you.”

...And an English accent. He relinquishes his hold, but continues to hover solicitously as she backs down the ladder. 

Will, arriving at a slower, more human pace, harbours dark suspicions. At least the poor girl isn't wearing a top with zip fasteners, or anything. He glares at Tesla, who blandly ignores him.

Kat, on solid ground, turns and gets a better look at her rescuer. Intense blue eyes, the narrow face mobile and intelligent, his general air of suave, rakish charm enhanced by a toothy smile. Wow.

“Thank you...?”

“Nikola Tesla.” He offers a hand.

It is obvious that she knows who he is. Her eyes turn out to be a clear hazel-green when they open wide.

“ _The_...Oh, my god, I never expected...” Catches herself up, and tries to retrieve her hand. “Sorry, you'd think I'd be a little more blasé, by now.”

Nikola's smile widens, and he practically purrs at her.

“But meeting me should always be a thrill.” 

Her eyes narrow again. 

“Oh, believe me, that wasn't on a par with my fangirl meltdown over poor James.” She says, blithely. Nikola looks briefly pouty, and then catches the twitch at the corner of her mouth. The minx. Well, _this_ could be fun.

James – must be James Watson. And it makes some things a lot clearer, Will knew that she must have had some experience with the abnormal world, because Helen wouldn't leave just anybody alone in the library. But Tesla's momentary look of petulance... he gives a small snort, and Kat grins outright, eyes him. 

“Um, so you're not really Victor Frankenstein, or something?”

Will laughs, offers his own hand.

“No, just plain Will Zimmerman, normal human.” 

“Katherine Donovan. Call me Kat.” 

Will is revising his first impression of her age upwards - she's older than she looks, but not in the way Helen is, simply a woman to whom life and genetics have been kind. Minimal makeup, no jewellery, comfortable in her skin, and confident in her abilities. Without the heels, she'd probably tuck nicely under Tesla's chin. (Worryingly, the vampire looks like he might quite enjoy that scenario.)

“Dr Magnus sent me down, asked if you would care to join her for tea in her office.”

“Ooh, thank you, I never refuse a cuppa.” Gives a self-deprecating shrug. “Living the cliché.”

“I think Magnus sees it as upholding a standard. Shall we?” 

If Will is hoping that the invitation will get rid of Tesla, he's to be disappointed. The vampire ambles along with them in perfect confidence, moving ahead to open the door.

Tesla had had every intention of leaving, possibly after lifting a couple of choice bottles from the cellar. Cat-like curiosity and a finely developed sense of mischief have now intervened. There are a limited number of people who know both who and what he is, and he likes to know of them in turn. Particularly if they are shapely little creatures in heels. And William clearly wants him to go away, which is always a good reason not to.

“So, are you joining us from the UK branch?” 

She turns readily enough back to him, whilst Will silently mouths “us?” incredulously over her head.

“No, I'm here from the Bancroft Foundation...” In response to his quizzical smile. “It's an archive of teratological manuscripts.”

“Teratological, in the medical sense?”

“As in the mythological sense. A discourse on prodigies and marvels. It's a small, private collection devoted to folklore, myths and the supernatural. Not quite on the scale of the library here, though.” Palpable envy. Nikola understands; he covets the books, too. “I'm the research end of the job. Some chap gets labelled as the Doric equivalent of Raoul Duke, I try to work out if he stumbled across a harpy colony, that sort of thing.”

“So, what, you chase abnormals on paper?” Will asks.

“Safer than being in the field. Unless you run across a sentient copy of the _'Necronomicon'_ , or something.” Kat says, cheerfully. “Though, you know, I do have a theory that Irem was actually a vampire stronghold.”

“You're interested in vampires?” Tesla interjects.

“I've done a little research on the origins of the vampire myth.” 

He gives a tight little smile, tolerant amusement.

“Well, I'd be happy to help correct any misapprehensions you may have...”

She looks directly at him, and he's abruptly aware of a mind, a sharp and vivid personality, behind those eyes.

“If you are serious about that, I'd be very interested. I've translated some fragments from Tjenu that I think are contemporaneous with the rise of Kalmin, but I'd value a second opinion.”

“...oh.”

She smirks back at him.

“You didn't think I meant that filthy human propaganda, did you? Really, Dr Tesla.”

Long dark hair and a crisp British accent were always going to grab his attention, and flirting with an attractive woman is a reflex. But when the woman in question turns out to be smart, and sharp-tongued, with a dry sense of humour and a naughty grin – it stops being automatic. And she's interested in vampires. Frankly, the vampire is interested right back.

“Please, call me Nikola.” This smile is less predatory, though somehow still dangerous, in a quite different way. “I'm hoping we shall be friends.”

Will watches in horrified amusement. The chances of Tesla disappearing back to his shady activities seem to be diminishing rapidly. 

“Don't you have to get back to SCIU...'Nicky'?”

Nikola winces, and looks reproachful.

“I save you from a psychotic computer virus, and you want to throw me out? Base ingratitude.”

“You work for SCIU?” She gives him a look of deep confusion. “Aren't they the black hats here?”

“A temporary collaboration – I'm the inside man...”

“He's also robbing them blind to fund his own research.” Will says, dryly.

“Ah, a standard government contractor.” Unfazed, Kat gives him a small salute. “Fill your boots.”

“Oh, I _like_ her.” The delighted beam is not guaranteed to instil confidence; Will is still twitching as he follows them into Helen's office.

“Ah, good, you found each other. Oh, and Nikola.” Helen had rather hoped that Nikola had gone on his way again by now.

“I had a slight ladder malfunction in the library, but luckily Dr Tesla caught me.” She settles onto a couch. “I was half wondering if you'd booby-trapped the place so I wouldn't nick the good stuff.”

“Well, I never did get that first edition Jules Verne back.” Helen grouses, without heat.

“James always maintained that was his to begin with.” 

This is obviously an old and well-worn argument, by the way they laugh. It just cements Will's theory that he is probably the one in the room with the least experience of the abnormal world, after all, especially when the Big Guy's arrival with the tea tray elicits nothing more than a slight widening of her eyes, before she smiles and thanks him for the proffered cup. Helen sips her own tea.

“I didn't intend for you to start work immediately on your arrival, you know.”

“There was a large room with a lot of books in it. Some things are inevitable. It's like I'm magnetically drawn to...are you okay?”

Will wipes coffee off his chin.

“Fine, sorry.”

Tesla doesn't even pretend not to look amused.


	2. The Tiger Who Came to Tea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nikola _is_ a genius, and admiring that about him is no bad thing. It's just the rest of his obnoxious, arrogant, lecherous, megalomaniac self that can be an issue.

Helen does wonder what has occasioned Will's attempted inhalation of coffee, but catching sight of Nikola's gleeful expression, decides that she'd rather not know.

“We're just waiting on Henry...” 

“...who is just coming, I had some soldering to finish up, which woulda been quicker without the little interruption earlier...oh, hi...” He subsides, with a bashful little wave at the stranger.

“...Katherine, this is Henry. He does our technical maintenance, amongst other things.”

Kat would have picked him out as a techie geek, anyway, he has the same scruffy but sweet demeanour as her go-to IT guy back home. He gives her a slightly grimy handshake, then shuffles over to slouch comfortably near Will. (A handkerchief appears in the corner of her vision. Kat accepts it, wipes her fingers.)

“Very well then, we can begin... Now, if Katherine hasn't yet explained, the Bancroft Foundation is an organisation that we have had some past dealings with. I'm considering the donation of a number of books, Katherine will be staying here and working in the library to assess them. And probably earmarking things that I hadn't ever intended to donate.” (They exchange grins.) “There are also certain documents that I would prefer removed to a secure location. Some have been scanned, but not all, and you may need to liaise with Henry over that. And don't feel that you have to hurry, please. You're welcome to stay for as long as you need.”

She could rather wish that Nikola had been elsewhere – he's a complication at the best of times. The story about transferring information out of the reach of SCIU becomes rather thin when one of the senior members of the agency has the run of the house. 

Still, when she watches him proffer the handkerchief with a small sideways smile, the incline of his head as he listens, or his gallant offer to replenish Katherine's tea, she thinks a little dubiously that perhaps she might not have to worry about diverting his attention. 

Katherine in turn is regarding him with a wary amusement, and just a faint hint of admiration, whether for the mind or the man, Helen isn't sure. Nikola _is_ a genius, and admiring that about him is no bad thing. It's just the rest of his obnoxious, arrogant, lecherous, megalomaniac self that can be an issue.

00000000

Kat can't believe that she's getting to sit and talk to Nikola Tesla. She'd known about him, the _real_ him, for a few years now. James had rather enjoyed upending her world view every so often, especially when she thought she was adjusting to things - She supposes that if you can adapt to “I'm Sherlock Holmes, and I was at school with Jack the Ripper” then “And Nikola Tesla is a vampire” just carries on the theme. And now, she's getting to meet the man he spoke of with such mingled irritation and affection, and discovering exactly why that was so. 

Five minutes in his company is quite enough to dispel the image of the teetotal, celibate vegetarian, and she has to wonder which particular twisted sense of humour had come up with that to start with. He is, indisputably, an incorrigible flirt. Still, it isn't like he means anything by it, after all. And she is never, ever going to get another opportunity like this.

She's spent her professional life chasing lost and hidden histories. It was how she had met James, after all, one quiet afternoon in the British Library. He'd been after a very obscure book, and had been astonished to find it already out. Tracking it down to a desk tucked away in the corner, he'd found an overly thin, sad-eyed young woman worrying her lip and writing down surprisingly comprehensive notes. She'd taken off her engagement ring and hidden it in her pocket, trying to forget her doubts by burying herself in books, something private and esoteric, just for herself, reminding herself of the scholar she had been, once. 

A respectable older gentleman in leg braces offering to buy her a cup of tea had not been viewed as a threat. For a man of James' talents, it hadn't taken long to track down any and all relevant data, and he found a way to manoeuvre her into the way of leaving her dead-end job, and applying for a position with the Bancroft Foundation. (Separating her from the fiancé was almost incidental, but James hadn't taken to the man at all.) 

A decade on, and she's sitting on a sofa, discussing the Scorpion kings with the world's last vampire. And he might be leaning in a little too close, and smiling in a way that she should not be finding quite so attractive, but he is also taking her seriously. 

00000000

Will's not sure whether Tesla is being flirtatious just to annoy Magnus, or whether he actually has designs on Katherine. Probably both, with some extra twisted motive in there somewhere, being him. But he's being rather obviously charming and attentive. Henry certainly thinks so, leaning over to hiss at Will, 

“Dude, is it me, or is Tesla creeping on her something fierce?”

“He already knocked her off a ladder so he could play hero.”

“He engineered a 'meet cute'?” Henry shakes his head, eyes wide. “Man, he's a piece of work.”

To his mind, Tesla is looking at her the way he looks at a new piece of tech, and that mild intrigue is far more disturbing than any outright smirk.

00000000

There's a certain amount of calculation in the way that Helen hands Katherine off to Will, with instructions for a basic tour. 

Nikola settles back in his chair, smiles at her, eyebrows raised.

“Well, she'll make a quite delightful addition to the ménage. Who is she, really? Another of your protégés?”

“More one of James', actually.”

“The sly dog.” 

“Nikola. He treated her like a favourite granddaughter.”

“Ah, so he would have wanted me horse-whipped for even talking to her, yes, I get it.” Nikola waves his hand dismissively. “He was always so keen to protect a virtuous English maiden from the dirty little foreigner, wasn't he?”

Helen eyes him with misgiving. When Nikola starts to feel persecuted, he's difficult to deal with, and James had always managed to stir up the most unfortunate reactions with his air of effortless superiority. Nikola's smile widens, which does nothing to alleviate matters.

“Don't distress yourself, I shall be the very soul of courtesy.” He unfolds out of the chair. “And with that in mind, I shall go and see what the hairy gourmet is preparing for dinner, and choose an appropriate vintage.”

Leaves her uncomforted. She doesn't think that Katherine needs protecting from Nikola, per se, but she does have a nasty feeling that he's going to make a nuisance of himself. Just because he can. She hadn't wanted him around at this juncture, when she's transferring information, items, money, moving the pieces. Nikola is far too clever and devious on his own account, and he has an instinct for it in others. 

They have argued about his job, what she sees as his betrayal in taking blood money from SCIU, but the information he provided has been invaluable. SCIU is but a means to an end for him, Nikola holds his own allegiance. The country of his birth has long since torn itself apart, remade itself in different configurations, even if he could return, it will never be his home again. He considers himself the last of his kind, (and there is a new crater in East Africa to attest to that,) he holds no respect for any human agency, charting his own dangerous course. 

But then, so have they all, a convoluted game with governments over the years, negotiating their way between the demands of those who would use them and their abilities, and manipulating in their turn. James had consulted for the British Government, but it was their heavy-handed paternalism that had driven her to Old City, an ocean between her and her ghosts. John... had become a dark myth, living off the remains of Worth's criminal network – she does not, will not think about what he may have done for money, or simple enjoyment, over the years. Nigel, no less criminal, but kinder, willing to steal, but unwilling to become an assassin, rendering himself invisible in all ways. Nikola had always been the most visible – at least, his constructed public persona. 

Sixty years of isolation had done nothing for his (slightly justifiable) paranoia or his (far less justifiable) sense of entitlement. Brooding over his grievances without anyone to haul him back off the ledge. She has a better appreciation for those years now. Being wrenched out of your life, and forced to construct another. Watching the world go to hell around you.

At least she had been able to put her exile to good use. Of course, she knows now that James had certainly deduced her initial involvement with the Foundation. She had never intended it to function as an adjunct to the Sanctuary, the role was to be an entirely independent and covert reserve of information, but James had never been one to let well alone, damn him - it must have appealed to his peculiar sense of humour when he had first introduced them to each other, her blithe ignorance. But she has somewhere to send certain irreplaceable items for safekeeping, which is something she increasingly fears may become quite dreadfully necessary. 

00000000

Kat walks down the stairs with Will, Henry ambling behind them.

“So, what was it like, working with James Watson?” Will asks, curiosity getting the better of him.

“I didn't really work _with_ him.” Kat shrugs. “He'd turn up, leave a mess all over the reading room, and nick all the good biscuits.” 

There is a deep fondness in her tone, though, and her smile turns a little sad. Will suddenly wants to kick himself. Kat sees his face, hastens on.

“I don't mind talking about him. Just...I didn't get to see the amazing deductive reasoning in a professional capacity all that much.” Grins suddenly. “You certainly couldn't watch a whodunnit with him around.”

“Oh, god, I can imagine.”

“This from the guy who wrecked 'The Usual Suspects' before the opening credits?” Henry hoots.

“Come on, it was obvious.” Kat says, a beat before Will, and then they both laugh. Henry throws up his hands, and disappears back to the delicate and precise art of hitting things with a wrench. Kat looks at Will, spreads her hands.

“So, give me the tour, then, and I'll spill the dirt on James' addiction to Jaffa cakes.”

00000000

Kat is probably the only one vaguely surprised when Tesla appears at the dinner table. Normal food and drink is not an absolute necessity for him, though he still enjoys it on occasion. But everyone has formed the unspoken opinion that the vampire is not only going to turn up, but is also going to head for their houseguest. 

Helen refuses to let him monopolise the conversation, and so the discussion of whether or not Serket was a _sanguine vampiris_ gets reluctantly shelved, in favour of a general discussion about archaeology, or at least, muddy holes people have been in. This segues into a whole conversation about experiences in swamps, and passes by degrees to stories about sewers. Helen mentions Ashley with only the slightest tremor, and the whole room breathes a little easier. Nikola rescues the mood with a tale that nobody has heard before, mainly because it involves Magnus, Mardi Gras and sequins.

Helen promptly retaliates with a story involving a pre-War dig in Egypt, a hungry Nikola and an irate camel. Nikola has to admit that honestly, even he can see the funny side of it now. He'd rather have women laughing with him, rather than at him, but he'll take what he can get. 

“All my stories are second-hand, I'm afraid.” Kat sounds regretful. “Not for me, the dubious joys of fieldwork, so I missed the sight of Declan MacRae being pulled face-first through an Irish bog by a grendel...”

“ _That_ was never in his report.” Helen says, but she looks amused.

“Grendel exists? No, wait, forget I spoke.” Will waves his hands apologetically when they _all_ give him a pitying 'dumbass' look.

“The adults are man-eaters, but these were just babies. I got to see them before they got shipped off to Djurö, and they were like these little baggy, hairless lemurs, only with these huge bat ears. Of course, they'd bite the fingers off anyone stupid enough to fall for the whole 'I'm cute, cuddle me' schtick, and they are a lot stronger than they look. He'd got it in the net, and it turned out that it was faking being tranq'd, because it took off like a rocket, screeching for mum. Which set the others off, of course, so you then had half a dozen highly trained operatives skidding about trying to hold onto these little bundles of fun. Dec said it looked like a cross between interpretive dance and mud wrestling...” 

“You!” Henry suddenly sits bolt upright, points a finger. “I know who you are, now. You're the one who sent Declan that 'care package'. He made me try Marmite!”

“Marmite?” Will asks.

“Pray you never find out.” Nikola shudders fastidiously.

“Not a fan?” Kat asks. He looks down his nose.

“Please. I have a delicately nurtured palate.”

“It's an acquired taste.” She admits, unabashed.

“So many things are.” Helen says, amiably. Nikola gives her a pissy little smile. Henry still looks traumatised. Kat leans over, and pats his arm.

“Declan is an evil, evil man, and I will smack him very hard for you when I'm back in London.”

“Thank you.” Henry pauses. Asks what he knows more than one person is thinking. “So, you and Declan...?”

Kat looks equally amused and horrified.

“Heck, no. He has a very scary...I don't know if 'girlfriend' is the right word.” She grins. “She tends to blow into London every so often, hit the shops like the fist of an angry god, and then drag Dec into his bedroom for a couple of days. You probably know her, actually, Irina.”

“Irina?”

“Moscow? Legs up to her cheekbones, can kill you with a spoon?”

“Oh.” Henry's eyes go very round. “ _That _Irina.”__

Whether she's human or abnormal, nobody has ever liked (dared) to ask. Smart money is on 'Terminator'. Nikola, obscurely cheered, finds that his opinion of MacRae has risen a notch. 

00000000

Kat sits on her bed, takes off her boots, and tries to sort out her mind. She's just been shown up to a room that wouldn't be out of place in an English stately home, four-poster bed and all, by a sasquatch. Outside the windows, the faint lights of Old City, and beyond that, the skyline of New City over the river, a different world, unsuspecting.

Helen is always surprisingly friendly and approachable for who she is, pole star and guiding light of the Sanctuary Network, Will seems pleasant enough, and Henry is just adorkable. Even the Big Guy is a distant amiable presence. She'd been prepared to meet them. What she had not been prepared for was Nikola Tesla.

Kat groans, and flops back on the bed, hands to her face. She's always been attracted to intelligent older men, who dress well, she was never not going to have a reaction to him. But, screw it, the man is _gorgeous_. Insanely smart, wickedly funny, ruthlessly charming and - looking damn fine for his age. Because he's a vampire. 

All the things she's heard and observed, the things that she can't forget about him. The things that she can't _afford_ to forget about him. He wears his years more lightly than James did, but there is something in the way he moves, fleeting gestures – he's old, over a century and a half of life, and no sense that any of _his_ time is borrowed, and he's not human, not anymore.

And the most intangible thing. He's – Helen's. Just as James had been.

00000000

Nikola sits in the quiet library, with a glass of Burgundy and a volume of Goethe. His eyes rest thoughtfully on the ladder, left in shadow with the rest of the room. 

He's always been fond of the name Katherine. (There had been another, over a lifetime ago, but she had been the loving wife of a dear friend, and he has his own code of honour.) She'd known James well enough for him to have told her of the Five. But she isn't part of the Sanctuary, not one of Helen's trainee Valkyries, with their bright sharp eyes and hard sharp smiles and ready recourse to violence. (Helen might like her men at her heel, but she likes her women as dangerous as she is.) A scholar, who spoke of his race with knowledge and respect. 

He finds it a little insulting that everyone seems to think that his advances might be unwelcome. He'll admit that his initial approach was a tad unorthodox, but it was effective. Although, with hindsight, possibly unnecessary, because she had been sufficiently impressed by his very existence, which made a pleasant change.

If you were to really press Nikola, in the absolute depths of his being, he'd admit to liking Henry – the pup has promise. But William irritates him, gambolling at Helen's heels and dismissing all their history together because _he's_ the shiny new toy, now. The children don't respect him, have no idea of his capabilities. They are lucky that he is a patient and tolerant man, and unwilling to upset Helen, because otherwise, William would have had some of his taunts put back down his throat with claws behind them. _Of course_ he has his own agenda, he had a life before Helen Magnus, has a huge part of his life which is not her concern at all – her time is spent gathering the poor and dispossessed of the abnormal world under her torch, to her, _sanguine vampiris_ are just one race amongst the many – and they have no right to judge him for pursuing goals that may not meet with her whole-hearted approval.

He should take himself back to his lab, his work, where there's a redhead who would be happy to admire him. As well as any number of giggling interns, and a roster of secretaries – he has never had any trouble attracting female attention. It has proved to be a hindrance when he's been working on more than one occasion. But they all know him as 'Dr Nicholas Teller' there, because nobody has clearance otherwise. Nikola Tesla, late of Gospić, is another story. 

There are people who know what he is, but only Helen now to remember him as who he was. It had been curiously pleasant to have an evening round the table, telling tales from their past, without the need to hide.

Sixty years alone in the shadows had not been good for him, he can see that in hindsight. Perhaps he'll stick around for a few days.


	3. Grammar and Nonsense and Learning

Nikola, on his way towards his intended destination, pauses for a moment. There's a handy picture on the wall, the morning light just sufficient on the glass...

From behind him, Henry gives a small crow of delight.

“Were you just...? You were totally checking out your hair.”

“Oh, God.” Will stares at him. “Seriously?”

Nikola's eyes narrow dangerously.

“Given the amount of product that you use, I hardly feel that you get to point fingers. And the day I take grooming tips from dog-boy will be a sorry one indeed.”

“Hey, it's cool.” Henry raises his hands. “No need to get nasty.”

But Will has made the connection between location, and probable destination.

“Don't you have anything better to do today?”

“Heinrich is being pitifully territorial about his tinkerings, and I'm certainly not helping you with the filing.”

“So, you're going to hang out in the library and annoy Ms Donovan?”

“Well, face it, gentlemen,” Nikola says, “She thinks I'm hot.”

Straightens his cuffs, before sauntering through the doors. Will shakes his head.

“I don't know whether to laugh, or to offer the poor woman a taser.”

“He'd probably regard that as foreplay.” Henry says, then looks abruptly nauseated.

Will tries very hard to banish that image from his mind. 

00000000

Kat is standing in the middle of the library, hands on hips, head tipped back to survey the shelves. She gives him a bright smile over her shoulder.

“Good morning, Dr Tesla.”

“And good morning to you, too. You look like you are plotting unspeakable mischief. Please tell me that's the case.”

“I've basically been turned loose to compile a wish-list, it's probably going to take a day or two for me to stop wanting to jump about like a five-year-old on a sugar rush.” 

Nikola is a little sorry that the bright smile wasn't for him. Or all for him, anyway. But he can be magnanimous, and share it with books. He hitches a hip onto the corner of a table.

“If you are going to be jumping about in those fetching heels, whilst climbing ladders, I'd better stay.”

Taken objectively, he's too thin, and his face is too long, all eyes and nose and that ridiculously wide mouth. And none of that matters, because the whole package is stupidly attractive. Especially when he smirks, all teeth, and she shouldn't find that sexy, because he looks like the very worst kind of trouble. Kat resolutely turns back to her notebook.

This is a little different to the situation yesterday, chatting in a room filled with other people (and one of them Helen, which was slightly uncomfortable in hindsight.) This is just the two of them, in this vast, vaguely shadowed room, the crosshatch of sunlight falling from the high window, and sound swallowed up by the books. It never occurs to her to be afraid, but she is nonetheless very aware of him. This means that she doesn't precisely jump when he comes to peer over her shoulder, although the little kick of breath and heartbeat are noticeable to vampire senses. She tilts the pad so he can see the split screen.

“Incompatible cataloguing systems, unfortunately, so I'm having to run the comparison by eye.”

Nikola casts an eloquent gaze around the room.

“Wouldn't it be simpler to have had electronic copies of everything to begin with?”

“Hush your mouth.” The librarian admonishes him. “I know that electronic media is the way forward, everything compact and accessible, but there's still something satisfying about the feel of real books.”

“Oh, I used to sneak books from my father's library as a boy.” Nikola says, smiles sidelong at her. “A self-lit screen is far less hazardous to the bedsheets than homemade candles.”

“I'm from the era of the electric torch.” Raises her eyebrows, amused. “So, your advancement of technology was just so you didn't set fire to your bed?”

“A valid concern.” And, because he's Nikola, “If _I'm_ going to set the sheets alight, it won't be because of a naked flame.”

She stares at him for a moment. Nikola's smile widens into full-on salacious, and she bursts out laughing.

“You are an appalling man. How many times have you been slapped for being vile?”

“Not enough to discourage me.”

“Obviously.” 

He's so outrageous, he isn't even offensive, grinning at her like a naughty little boy. And it's going to be all too easy to forget that he is anything other than an attractive man with a dubious sense of personal boundaries. 

00000000

He follows her about as she works, but not obtrusively, sometimes reaching things down for her, and they fall easily enough into conversation. Kat's actual job is not too dissimilar to the work he himself had done in tracing his people, and not for the first time, he wonders what it would have been like, to have someone to share his journey, his research. This is a job that no search engine, however sophisticated the programming, can yet duplicate. All the nuances of thought and language and context. 

“I hope I'm not keeping you from anything important.”

Nikola thinks of his lab, the handful of half completed projects, those who imagine themselves his superiors demanding his time and energy and intellect for their petty concerns.

“Nothing that won't keep. I'd like to help.” He finds that he means it, as he says it.

He's shed his jacket, carrying stacks of books that would bring a normal man to his knees, and Kat tries not to ogle the muscles of his forearms. She has a suspicion that he is showing off, and has turned back his sleeves deliberately. 

(She is unaware of the fact that Nikola is cheerfully appreciative of the view _he_ has, as she scurries up and down ladders, bends over the table to mutter at her notes.)

He'd been wondering how to address her - Katherine seems oddly formal, Kat too abrupt – and then, Katica just slips off his tongue. She's been subjected to many versions of her given name, nearly all of which she has shot down, some with extreme prejudice, but that's a new and charming variation. He looks slightly too smug about it, though, so she keeps calling him 'Dr Tesla' with exquisite politeness, even as she ruthlessly orders him about. He can well imagine that she bullies MacRae with this same cheerful disregard. And James had presumably indulged her, let her trample over him in those wicked little boots. Quite why he is allowing this state of affairs, he's not quite sure. Or perhaps he is. 

“So, is there some poor beleaguered male awaiting your return to London? A captain of industry? Or a fellow bibliophile?”

Kat snorts.

“Hardly. My last 'date' consisted of a post-match evening out with Declan and his mates. It was...not good.”

“I assume beer was involved?” Nikola asks, in the dubious tones of one discussing an unfortunate faux pas.

“There was Guinness. And a barful of drunken squaddies singing rugby songs.” She shudders. “Let us never speak of it again.”

“Beer.” He repeats. “You're a philistine.”

She gives him a truly diabolical grin.

“I learnt an entire list of port-based cocktails, just to watch James twitch. I'm guessing the mention of kalimotxo will do the same to you.”

Nikola makes a strangled noise, and stares at her in horror.

“Oh, please tell me you don't...”

“Personally, I prefer champagne.”

“You are a fiend.” He says, with feeling. 

Really, the woman is evil. She has coerced him into being her packmule, and now she was baiting him with alcoholic abominations. Kat just laughs at him.

00000000

“There are a couple of manuscripts I was hoping to get hold of, that I lost out on at auction. Unfortunately, it seems that they are in the New York house.” She pulls a face. “That bloke that used to be in charge there would never lend stuff out, either.”

“Perhaps you'll get an opportunity to, hmm, peruse them, now that he's been displaced?”

“I'm hoping to swing by on my way home.” (There's an unholy gleam in her eyes, which Nikola translates as 'And given the chance, I will go through those shelves like a plague of locusts'. He grins. He appreciates the instinct to acquire knowledge by any means.) “I've never been to New York.”

“Never...you poor deprived child.” He's honestly shocked. 

“Well, it's never seemed like somewhere that would be fun to visit on my own. And it's really bizarre being called a child by a man who still looks the wrong side of his mid-life crisis.”

Nikola sniggers, then adopts a world-weary demeanour.

“My dear girl, when you get to my age, the world is full of charming infants.”

“How very Maurice Chevalier of you.”

“Hmmph. See if I recommend any good restaurants to you for that.” 

A moment or so later, of course, he begins to sing a very recognizable tune softly under his breath. Kat gives him a narrow gaze that makes her resemble her feline namesake, but rather ruins it with the smile she can't suppress. He leans in, his expression wicked.

“Incidentally, I consider ortolans to be a disgusting waste of Armagnac.”

She pokes at him with her pen.

“C'mon, I've got a job to do, and I can't concentrate on translating things with you being distracting.”

Since Nikola has taken small calibre rounds that have failed to dissuade him, he's not at all concerned by a ballpoint. He keeps grinning, and snags the book she has in front of her.

“Genius, remember? Also, polyglot.”

“And modest. Don't forget that.” But she looks up at him, all amused challenge. “Go on then, impress me.”

“Oh, my dear,” The eyebrows again, “I think you can count on me to do that.”

She pokes at him again.

“Useful, rather than merely decorative, or go away.”

“The story of my life.” He says, mournfully, and opens the book. 

Languages have always come easily to Nikola. Those who mocked his accent in those early New York days, or at Oxford, had never stopped to consider that English was well down the list of languages he had learnt fluently by his mid-twenties. 

A couple of hours later, they have got through one bay of the library, six mugs of tea and a bottle of Merlot, which Nikola has dripped on a volume of hand-drawn maps, and been scolded for. But he has also been thanked profusely, and smiled at with genuine admiration. He'll count that as a win.

00000000

“Have you seen Katherine today?” Helen asks, looking round Will's office door.

“I think she's being subjected to another lecture on 'Me and My Ego'.” 

“Oh dear, Nikola's still here?”

“He has a captive audience and free access to your wine cellar.” Will points out, dryly. 

“Ah.” Helen sets her shoulders. “I had better go and intervene.”

Although Nikola is indeed in the library, he appears to be being genuinely helpful. (Of course, 'appears' might be the operative word.) The corner table in the library has become a little book fortress, and she can just see the top of two dark heads bent over. 

Nikola hasn't slipped a 'casual' arm around Katherine onto the table, but Helen thinks he's probably considering it. She glares at him on principle, and he gives her a look of transparent innocence. Katherine looks remarkably unharassed, though, blinking up from the collection of papers.

“Good morning...um, is it still morning?”

“Only just. I was wondering whether you were showing up for lunch. Do you have everything under control?”

'Everything' smirks, and much to Helen's surprise, Katherine smiles cheerfully.

“Oh, Dr Tesla's been wonderful. His German is better than mine...”

“...I do have a few years head start...” Nikola, all mock humility, and they exchange grins.

“Your Greek could use a bit of work, though.”

“I keep seeing equations in it.” He confesses. “It's terribly distracting.”

It's a long time since Helen has seen Nikola so at ease with anyone - or anyone so at ease with Nikola. 

00000000

Lunch is a far less formal affair than dinner, a buffet service in the kitchen. Helen has chosen to toy with a salad, whilst Henry constructs a towering sandwich. Will tries for healthy, falls by the wayside, and follows Henry's example. Kat eyes the American cheese with suspicion, and sticks to chicken salad. Nikola decides that the Merlot is lonely, and needs a friend.

They are all used to Tesla's nicknames, insulting or otherwise - Henry keeps a record, he's quite proud that he's leading the field – so Will thinks they shouldn't be surprised that Kat has become 'Katica'. She's still calling him 'Dr Tesla', but more as if it is a private joke. And then Tesla virtually pouts at her every time she does, which is deeply disturbing.

It isn't like they don't talk to other people. Kat and Magnus are talking about some mutual acquaintance they have in Cairo, and Will reflects on how much his life has changed that hearing the word 'ecdysis' in the context of 'changing for dinner' doesn't even faze him. Henry has this new and random bit of electronic tech that he ganked from somewhere, and by the time Magnus notices, he and Tesla appear to be using a couple of forks to dismantle it, their esoteric technobabble interspersed with a brisk exchange of insults. (Tesla doesn't make any concessions with Henry, which is a back-handed compliment.) But when Kat finishes her plate, and announces her intention to go battle the books once more, the vampire slides out of his chair to follow, and there is already a debate about whether to group volumes by language or geographic region as they disappear down the corridor. Henry blinks after them, then back at the abandoned and gutted 'ware.

“...are we still in some freaky alternate 'verse, here, or does she have some scary vamp-wrangling powers?”

“Not touching that one.” Will holds his hands up. 

“Well, I'm expecting a call from London.” Helen smiles. “I'll ask Declan if there's a precedent.”

00000000

She drops it into the conversation, a joke made in passing, and Declan manages to disguise the brief flash of horror quite well, but after the phone call ends, he puts his face in his hands and laughs quietly.

Because, yes, there _is_ a precedent. The woman had spent best part of a decade dealing with James Watson. She is extremely used to high-strung genius, tremendous ego and the general weirdness that comes with talking to someone who remembers a world before electricity.

During the mad scramble of the superabnormals, Declan had been aware of Tesla as an arrogant, abrasive presence, though he'd been hurting too much from the loss of James Watson, panicking at the sudden elevation in his own responsibilities, just dealing with everything, to really take notice of him. But he has a general memory of a thin, well-dressed man with a weary face and sharp eyes, all biting sarcasm and ferocious intelligence.

He might not know Tesla, except by reputation and anecdote. (And it is really quite terrifying how much crazy surrounded the bloke even when you didn't know about the vampire element.) But he does know Kat. Clever, curious, stubborn, and utterly unafraid to tell the smartest man in the room to get over himself. To take a living legend to task for nicking her biscuits and making a mess in her library. 

(To hold a tired man together when the weight of time and secrets sometimes became too much, and not flinch in the face of the demons accrued.) 

He's so glad he's on his side of the Pond for this one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kalimotxo is a mix of half red wine and half coca cola. 
> 
> The song Nikola sings is "Thank Heaven for Little Girls" from 'Gigi'.


End file.
